João’s overwhelming workload and accumulated exhaustion taught me a very serious lesson – one I had to learn the hard way. None of it was João’s fault. We had worked relentlessly for two and a half years. From the end of 2016 until the middle of 2019, we simply never stopped. It was relentless. Constant. Permanently in the red. And although we had already begun working with several other people, as I’ve mentioned before, there was something uniquely special about João’s editing that I struggled to find in anyone else who worked for me. The mistake was mine, not theirs. It was a bad habit of mine. I had to learn to see the best in every videographer I worked with after that. It took time, but eventually I got there. By April, several projects were already being handled by different people. But very few – or almost none – involved editing. Most were focused on filming and photography. And it was halfway through that year that a new chapter began for B16.

João Costa continued working with B16 over the years that followed, as you’ll discover in the coming chapters. Even today, there are things that simply cannot be separated from Marcelo Souto’s or João Costa’s influence. They left their mark on B16 through the way they worked, executed and created. I owe them both a great deal. I can never thank them enough. I’ve done so throughout these pages, and I’ll continue doing so in the years I’ll describe ahead, each in their own time. João stepped away at this point because he was exhausted. On the verge of burnout. He dealt with it in his own way. Looking back, he had probably been giving me signs all along – signs that I chose not to understand. In the previous chapter, I compared his departure to the end of a romantic relationship. Here, it’s worth adding that, in those situations – or in most of them – there are always warning signs. Behaviours that should be noticed. Silences. Expressions. Clues that aren’t obvious until it’s too late. They’re there, but we stubbornly refuse to see them. Then, when it finally happens, there’s no turning back, and we’re left incapable of accepting that it’s over. I’ve experienced that in my personal life. Relationships that hurt me viscerally, physically, robbing me of sleep, of breath, of the ability to think. To accept. To understand. To see. I’ve always loved too intensely. That same lack of balance. Never an eight, always an eighty. And the consequences of living without balance are enormous. They’re difficult to accept. To internalise. To process. To make part of who we are. There were two relationships in particular that took many, many years to heal. The first one, decades later, I eventually found peace with, and today I have enormous affection for that person, without any confusion of feelings. The second… I haven’t seen her again in decades. I don’t know what I’ll feel when I eventually do. Because I’ve always loved deeply. And because I believe that when love is genuine – when it’s true and sincere – it never really dies. That’s how I am with my family. That’s how I was with every woman I’ve ever loved. With every friend. With every animal – especially horses and dogs. Even with places. And with things. And when those things come to an end, it’s complicated. There’s a film that says, “Everything ends badly. Otherwise, it wouldn’t end.” I agree with that. In João Costa’s case – a friend who became a colleague – it was incredibly difficult at the time, but eventually it became like the first example I mentioned. It didn’t take years before we were together again. In fact, we still are today. Back then it took weeks, maybe months. But the wound remained. The scar stayed. And nothing will ever erase that milestone from B16’s history – or from the entrepreneur I became.

In April, I travelled to Porto with my wife and our daughter, Olívia. It was her very first flight. A beautiful trip, by the way. I love Porto. Every time I go there, I leave feeling as though I never had enough time. There have even been moments when I seriously considered moving north to live and work. It never happened. But I won’t say it never will. I like the people from the North. I always have. Tough people. Honest. Full of character. At least, that’s the impression everyone I’ve met there has helped me build. Those days were incredibly important. For me. For my family. For João. For B16.

It was also in April that B16 became a symbolic supporter of the Share Algarve event. We joined as an official supporter and had the pleasure of attending. We watched the talks, wandered around the venue, met new people and saw our logo featured across several communication channels. Thank you for the opportunity, Jorge and Miguel. I’m immensely proud of productions like this, of events like these, of this holistic vision for the Algarve and everything that’s being created here. I congratulate you every time I see you. You’ve organised this and many other remarkable events. You’re true pioneers of the creative buzz that’s been growing across the Algarve. Truly incredible.

And the truth is that, no matter how deeply I felt the departure of my partner, my companion in battle, the person who had helped me build the business, I have always loved what I do. I’ve always loved our story. I’ve always loved the company to the point of sacrificing many things for it. That’s where I belonged. That’s where I felt at home. In that tiny office filled with history and love. Where every corner, every detail, every painting, every pen, every book and every folder tells bedtime stories – at least to me. It had all been built through sweat. Determination. Sacrifice. And that place couldn’t lose its pride simply because someone had decided to walk away. Besides, I had a family waiting for me at home. A family I’m immensely proud of and for whom I wanted to provide everything I possibly could. The time had come to open the door to new occupants, new crew members, new sailors, new samurai.

I’m about to make a joke that really isn’t funny. But I feel like it. It makes sense to me. It’s useful. It’s a bit cheeky. A little tasteless, perhaps. But strangely appropriate at this point in the story. I feel like talking about new girlfriends. About new relationships. About the mistakes we unintentionally make when we begin loving someone new. After spending years with the same person – even after a long period on your own, it can happen, one day, that you accidentally call your new partner by your ex’s name. Pure habit. It’s a mistake. You apologise, you talk it through, you put it behind you, you make peace, it takes time to process and forgive, but everyone involved hopes it won’t happen again. If it does happen again… either humour saves the day, or someone’s going to end up in serious trouble. I mention this because something very similar happened during this stage of B16’s story. Earlier in my life, I had a long and very serious relationship with a woman named Rute. That relationship ended, I spent several years single, and when I eventually met the love of my life, her name – fortunately or unfortunately – was also Rute. Technically it isn’t her first name; that’s something else. But everyone who knows her calls her Rute rather than her legal first name. For me, that coincidence turned out to be incredibly convenient. I never once got her name wrong. The opposite, however, wasn’t always true. But for me, it was perfect. And at B16 – perhaps only in my own mind – the exact same thing happened. The long and serious relationship I’d had with João was replaced by another one with the “same” name. And the coincidence is rather amusing. They’re completely different people. Impossible to compare. That’s not the point. The comparison isn’t real. It’s simply the cheeky little joke.

With my focus restored, I began searching for freelancers with a different kind of ambition. Someone who thought long-term. Someone who wanted to take on the more permanent role of resident videographer. Someone who could help me solve the pickle I had on my hands. Vânia was beginning to slow down. She needed time for herself, and whenever more demanding projects came along, the pressure increased, which wasn’t good for anyone. Ricardo Flôxo was an entrepreneur on the rise who was doing freelance jobs at the time. He worked simultaneously for many companies and clients. Whenever he could, he accepted our challenges, but fitting us into his schedule was always complicated. Nuno Relógio also had a full-time job elsewhere. And Nuno didn’t enjoy editing. Tiago Cruz – a phenomenon – worked alongside Ricardo. And João Guerra… João Guerra fit like a glove every time we worked together.

I feel slightly uneasy about comparing a past romantic relationship to my Wife. I feel equally uneasy about comparing a former professional relationship to what I am trying to express here. There is no comparison. I don’t love anyone more. I don’t love anyone less. It was simply the way I found to put into words what was in my heart. No one is worth less than anyone else here. No one is worth more. It was what it was. It’s still not particularly funny. It’s still a little cheeky. But my gut tells me to leave it in. So I will.

I started by handing a considerable amount of MAR Shopping Algarve work over to João Guerra. Then I would turn to Ricardo for advice, asking whether we were heading in the right direction, whether we could improve things, whether there was something more we could add. At the time, my only concern was getting the work delivered. As for new projects, I figured we’d deal with them when they came. The truth is that Guerra started producing work that completely took the ground from beneath my feet – in the best possible way. One outstanding project after another. We started slowly, but everything grew quickly and consistently. Alongside the recurring MAR projects that landed almost every week, he became responsible for a huge amount of our content. Together, we created the entire public information campaign about parking for the municipal company Loulé Concelho Global. It was a long, delicate and particularly complex campaign. Residents were furious about the way parking regulations were being implemented across the municipality, and our goal was to present every side of the issue fairly. I am immensely proud of that work. We were treated exceptionally well throughout the process. But it also carried political consequences that were far from pleasant. Dealing with controversial public issues is never easy. People can be remarkably cruel. And we willingly put ourselves in the firing line. It was also with Guerra that we covered the opening of the Mobility Store, the Municipal Market Chocolate Fair, and produced all the institutional photography for the company’s different operational sectors: parking, the municipal market, public transport, sustainable mobility, electric vehicle charging, bike-sharing, among many others. Practically all the multimedia work created for Loulé Concelho Global during that period bears his signature. Guerra also filmed and edited projects for Designer Outlet Algarve, some of them particularly significant, such as the Classic Car Event and the Late Night Shopping event featuring Herman José – one of my lifelong idols. We worked alongside many other people as well, always giving everything we had with every challenge that came our way. The goal was simple: deliver every new project while gradually clearing the backlog of twenty-two videos that still needed editing. Little by little, the results began to show. We kept delivering.

In the middle of all these productions, I broke the ring finger on my right hand. It involved dogs, family and friends. A strange, unwanted, almost surreal episode. For someone who had already broken a wrist, a foot, a knee, even cracked his head; someone who had suffered repeated ligament tears in both feet from skateboarding, followed by two severe ligament ruptures – one in each knee – I genuinely thought breaking a finger would be nothing. It wasn’t. Recovering from a broken finger is anything but simple. Mine took years. Years of travelling to Faro District Hospital two or three mornings every single week, attending Occupational Therapy sessions first thing in the morning. It hurt so much. I screamed so much. I suffered so much. And then, one morning, something changed. I looked around that room and suddenly felt incredibly small. There were people fighting for their lives. Fighting simply to recover basic mobility. Fighting for limbs they had almost lost. Fighting to regain movements most of us never think about. It was there, in that room, that life taught me another lesson. I stopped complaining. I learned to suffer in silence. I stopped putting into words the pain that made me cry because, sitting right beside me, there was always someone enduring three, four, perhaps ten times more pain than I was – yet staying focused, staying quiet, doing what needed to be done because they had to work, or because someone at home depended on them. I learned so much in that room. I owe those people more than they will ever know. I have a special affection for António, João Paulo and Clarisse, but my admiration extends to every single person who cared for me, treated me and worked tirelessly to ensure I wouldn’t lose the use of my right ring finger – a finger that barely bent, barely moved, whose mobility had to be painstakingly recovered through repeated stretching of ligaments, muscles being pushed beyond their limits, constant inflammation, alternating heat and cold treatments, aggressive extension exercises, mirror therapy, injections… whatever it took. That room is extraordinary. Anyone who has ever been there knows exactly what I mean. My deepest gratitude to all of them.

Without even realising it, my toothbrush and toothpaste had found their place beside hers, in the very same cup.
I’d already hung out a load of washing and folded her underwear on top of the bed.
The raisin biscuits had mysteriously disappeared. I honestly can’t remember if it was me, my Love.
And on the kitchen counter, I had left an empty bottle with a single rose standing inside it, filled with water.
That’s how things become serious. In the small gestures. In the little things.
The days pass, and suddenly there is no other way of living.

Ricardo Flôxo is one of those people who seems capable of doing absolutely everything. Above all else, he is a family man. He has a wife and two daughters. Then come the animals. I don’t actually know whether he has cats, dogs or anything else, but I do know he keeps chickens – which, on its own, is already an achievement. He manages his property with remarkable seriousness and a genuine sense of legacy. He teaches. He trains. He helps countless videographers entering the industry, not only in the Algarve but across Portugal and beyond. He’s a mentor. Then there’s music. He plays in a band. He performs live. He’s a producer. He cycles, exercises and genuinely believes in looking after the mind, the body and the spirit. Simply spending time with Ricardo is always worthwhile. You laugh. You think. You reflect. You learn. Professionally, he was one of the pioneers of qualified drone cinematography in Portugal. Long before drones became mainstream, Ricardo was already piloting and operating the camera simultaneously. It’s now common to see him working alongside Tiago Cruz – one flying, the other filming – both displaying impeccable technique. Ricardo has been doing this for years. He has worked with virtually every agency I know in the Algarve. His portfolio includes international awards. He has contributed to projects recognised throughout the industry. He is living proof that dedication and professionalism eventually speak for themselves. I never felt the need to dig deeply into Ricardo’s personal life. It simply never happened. What mattered was that he immediately understood where I was, professionally and personally, and helped me enormously. I owe him a great deal. He understood the number of projects B16 needed to deliver, adapted to our impossible schedule, offered us special rates to help organise the editing and delivery process, edited, coordinated, delegated work and accompanied us through much of this journey to recover lost time and regain our place in the market. He filmed for almost every one of our clients and, as I will explain later, became involved in the most important projects of 2019. At the time, Ricardo promoted his work under a brand called Flyover Algarve – The Flôxo’s Nest – a clear nod to Miloš Forman’s masterpiece from 1963, which already says something about his taste. And for someone like me, who genuinely loves cinema, calling him “the owl” is anything but an insult. Quite the opposite. It’s recognising the quiet wisdom, patience and perspective he has consistently demonstrated throughout years of hard work. Today, “the owl” runs a solid, growing company built upon the professionalism his clients have come to expect. Word of mouth alone proves that his work is here to stay. Algarve Studios has become a multidisciplinary creative space where clients are welcomed, productions happen relentlessly and a constantly evolving machine for video, photography and creative services continues to grow. In fact, it is naturally evolving into a creative agency. Almost inevitable in the industry we both inhabit. I’ve never seen Ricardo as a competitor. Truthfully, I don’t think I have competitors. The agencies that genuinely inspire me are catalysts. They are fuel. They make us better. We need one another. There is one agency in particular to whom I regularly send private messages simply to congratulate them on their work. He knows who he is. And he always replies. I genuinely believe in that way of doing business. Ricardo does too. Had he not been that kind of person, B16 would never have survived this stage of its journey. As one example, it was Ricardo who accompanied me to the presentation meeting where we unveiled the communication and video package we had produced for Algarve Chef Experience. For me, it remains an unforgettable meeting. It only happened in November of that year. We’ll get there. For now… Ricardo, my sincerest thank you. You will always have a place among the people who became part of our story. And I will speak of you again.

The ideal romantic relationship, the one in which I viscerally feel the absence of the person I love, is simply that. To love is to give. It is to be with. It is to consume the air, the water, the saliva, the warmth, the sweat, the silence, the song. It is to seduce and to be seduced. It is sharing. It is being in the right moment, with the right company. It is the gaze, the smile, the touch, the comfort, the embrace. It is the perfect fit. It is blood flowing through your veins. It is the aura, the mist and the autumn. It is summer inside the sea. It is diving into towering waves and being tumbled beneath them with full awareness of your body and your place. It is orgasm. Orgasms. The kiss. The breathing. It is the touch of my fingers running through her long hair. It is my nose against her neck. It is closing my eyes and having nowhere else left to go. It is so much more that words are useless. It is so much more that words fall short. It is so much more that words are no longer necessary. It is so much more. It is more. More. I am fortunate for everything I have already lived. I believe there is still so much left for me to experience, but I am fortunate for everything I already carry within me. And this chapter of my life has been entirely fulfilled within my own soul. If there was one thing I dreamed about as a child, it was this. To be deeply in love. To love unconditionally. To become one with another person. I was. I lived it. I loved. I am. And then came our children. In my case, everything changed. Because the love that is born, grows and overflows for them is difficult to manage. And I find myself at a stage where I honestly don’t quite know how to navigate it. Because I truly love. Her. And our children. Returning to this text, the parallel with romantic relationships ends here. Now. Because I want it to. Because it is obvious. It served only to explain how genuinely I feel about everyone I love, yet at an immense, endless and utterly unrealistic intergalactic distance from the true love I have just described.

Without even realising it, the sweet-hearted Viking had quietly become my companion on productions across the Algarve. He spent countless hours beside me in the office. We spoke endlessly on the phone, on WhatsApp, through social media. He worried the way I worried. He thought things through and searched for solutions to every problem. He anticipated what was coming. He charged the batteries, cleaned the memory cards, organised the schedules and sketched out the first ideas for the productions ahead. Without me asking, he would begin editing material that needed delivering. Without me asking, he would suggest music, rhythms and creative ideas for the projects we were about to produce. We talked for hours without end. We laughed. We sang along to Plutónio’s songs that played on repeat from the Rocket’s USB drive. They’re still there today, but I no longer listen to them. I miss hearing him humming beside me. Every time I play that album, the Viking sits next to me again. I hear his laughter. I see his smile. I remember the struggles, the battles and the magic we lived through together. João Guerra was an outstanding professional, a thoughtful collaborator, an engaged colleague and an unexpected friend. He was involved in everything there was to do. He stood beside me during some very special victories. And, in due time, I will bring to the surface the ones that marked us most, in this period and in others yet to come.

Guerra and the “Owl” became the answer to the emptiness left behind on the waves of Praia de Faro. Together, they were emotion and reason. They were complicity, professionalism and commitment. They became, and remain, part of B16. On the Playmobil shelf that tells the story of everyone who has passed through our company, these two figures represent João and Ricardo.

What is Love? Has anyone ever found the perfect definition? How far can this discussion go? To what point? Towards what conclusion? I imagine that each person, shaped by their emotional, spiritual and mental journey; by the experiences they have collected, the relationships they have lived and the life they have known; by the books they have read, the films they have watched, the journeys they have taken and the moments they treasure; by their traumas, disappointments and understanding of themselves; by everything and by nothing; each of us finds our own way of describing Love. Whether through words written by someone else, phrases once heard, emotional expressions, or a sentence found inside a fortune cookie or printed on a packet of sugar beside a cup of coffee, every person feels it differently. As for me, Love has always been something I longed for. Perhaps because, as a child, it was presented to me as something worth striving towards. Perhaps because I realised early on that sharing is stronger than solitude. Perhaps because, within my Aquarian, creative and emotional self, there is a fleeting comfort in that exponential magnitude that everything acquires when another person walks the same path beside you. But the world has changed. It has changed enormously since I was a child. Today’s world is fleeting, volatile, made of plastic. And I will never be able to pass that intensity on to my children unless I continue to live it in the present. What is Love? Does it even need describing? Or is it simply felt, leaving everything that cannot compare to it effectively separated by distances measured in galaxies? I love myself. I love her. I love them. I am loved. I have been loved. Tomorrow is another day.